When Words Fail
by Kiki Cabou
Summary: Don rushes to Charlie's rescue at Amita's house and saves the day. Kind of.


**Disclaimer:** They ain't mine.

**Thank You:** To Z, for the beta.

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**WHEN WORDS FAIL**

"He did _what_?" Don asked, astounded, and listened with his mouth hanging open as Amita repeated herself on the other end. "All right, I'll be right there. Yeah, just sit tight. Bye."

It was Sunday morning and Don had managed to work in a jog. Still dressed in his running clothes, he stood up from his tiny kitchen table and snagged a hot piece of toast from the toaster. He slathered on some jam, had a nibble, found his keys, and took off so that he could behold Amita's loopy description with his own eyes before trying to solve the problem.

Traffic wasn't bad. Fifteen minutes later he arrived at the small white carriage house Amita was renting in Pasadena, the back house of a little Arts and Crafts bungalow just a hop away from Charlie's beloved Craftsman. He parked his Suburban right behind Charlie's Prius, jogged across the street to the front house, slipped through the side gate and made his way to the back, where Amita's humble abode was framed by a lovely (if small) expanse of lawn with a few lemon trees. He pounded on the white oak door.

"Amita? It's Don. Open up."

Amita answered the door wearing one of Charlie's shirts and nothing else. She was caught between embarrassment and laughter. The combination looked surprisingly good on her.

"Hi, Don. Come on. I'll show you where he … Oh, c'mere, Nugget!" she cooed, changing her speech register on a dime and stooping to pick up a tiny, fluffy, snow white creature that had announced its presence with a yowl. "You want some yum-yum? Huh? You want some yummy-yummy?" Then she recovered herself and cleared her throat. (Don fought down a smile.) "He's, um, he's back here."

Don followed Amita through her comfortably messy place, staying a good distance behind the two of them because the softball-sized critter in Amita's arms was hissing at him over her shoulder. "Nugget" was Amita's cat – a cranky, constantly shedding, sharp-clawed miniature Persian that was fiercely protective of her.

Amita wasn't much for animals ordinarily, but this little guy had been a gift from her parents a few months ago, meaning he was non-returnable. Her mother thought maybe she was a bit lonely when she was home, and as soon as her father heard that her Jewish and definitely non-Indian boyfriend wasn't too fond of cats, he was all for it. Amita had no say in this. The cat had just arrived in a pet carrier one morning with a note, and now she was stuck with him.

Since Charlie brought out the worst in Nugget (and vice versa), she spent most of their "us" time at the Craftsman and Charlie spent little time over here. But she was adamant about not dropping the "defenseless lil' fella" off at a shelter, no matter how much Charlie pushed the idea. It felt like a betrayal.

"I knew putting in that pet door was a mistake," Amita said as they reached the kitchen.

Don ignored the white walls and the cheerful little colorful accents and instead stared at the end of the room. On the right was the pantry, and on the left there was an entryway from the back yard. The closed, white-washed door had a cat flap, a small 8 inch by 8 inch cut-out that was set about 6 inches up from floor level and fitted with steel sides. Sticking out of the cut-out was a recognizable, hirsute, and apparently headless male body, sporting only smiley-face-print boxers and a digital wristwatch. It wriggled and kicked against the linoleum with its hands pressed up on either side of the square cut-out for leverage. The door was shaking violently from the fight.

"Son of a _bitch_!" came Charlie's voice from the backyard, and the body continued to struggle.

Don needed a moment to gawk like an idiot. Hearing about this on the phone was nothing to seeing it in person.

"How many advanced degrees does he have, again?" he asked finally.

Amita set Nugget down on the counter. "I know. Any ideas?"

The body stopped struggling for a moment. "Don? Is that you?" Charlie's voice called from outside.

Don rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, Charlie, it's me," he said, making sure his voice was loud enough to penetrate the door. "Amita, how do you get around back?"

"Oh, just go out the front door and around the house. There's a gate."

So Don circled around the house, stepped through the open gate to the carriage house's tiny backyard, and found the appropriate door. Charlie's entire head was sticking out of it near the bottom. The only positive in this equation was that the flap of the cat door made a sort of roof over him, providing some shade. Don knelt so that he could talk to his brother comfortably. Charlie, unshaven, squinty-eyed from the morning sun and resigned to the humiliation, looked up at him.

"Hey, Don," he said, vying desperately for a normal tone.

Don worked his mouth for a moment. He definitely had to help, but he needed to hear the story first. "Hi." With that pleasantry out of the way, he was free to interrogate. "How in the hell did you do this to yourself?"

Charlie sighed. "Well, I spent the night. And a little while ago, Amita and I were…" He cleared his throat. "You know, and uh, Nugget was making an even bigger fuss than usual, so Amita told me to chase him outside. So I did. And then we went back to … um … yeah, and when we were done, he wasn't making any noise…" Charlie rolled his eyes. "So Amita got scared that he might have run away, even though the yard is enclosed with a gate, and unless he dug a trench she doesn't know about… Anyway, she said to take a look and see if he was out there at all."

"Okay," said Don, still unsure where this was heading.

"Well, she keeps this door locked, and I didn't know where the key was. I thought I would just peek through the pet door, so I got down on all fours and I looked, and I called for him, and I didn't see him. And I got my whole head through, and I still didn't see him, and then I tried to get my head back in, and I…" He looked down in shame. "I'm stuck, Don." It was almost a whine. "Can you do something?"

"Only if I get to document this."

Charlie shot him a fierce, under-the-brow look that promised instant death if he tried.

Don held up his hands. "Hey, I'm just kidding! Take it easy, okay? We'll figure this out."

So ten minutes later Don was in line at the CVS up the street, getting a lot of strange looks from people as he adjusted his hold on a large tub of Vaseline and a roll of duct tape. And ten minutes after that, he was back at the house.

"Turns out Nugget got out because the gate was open. He got back into the house through an open window," Don explained loudly.

He was practically shouting because he'd just smoothed lengths of duct tape over Charlie's ears. Then he started slathering Vaseline all over his brother's hair and over the tape. Amita was inside the house, greasing up his neck. His neck didn't really need to be greased, but it was a "just in case" measure, as in, just in case he had to shift so much that his neck rubbed against the metal sides of the pet door. Nugget had decided to serenade them all from his perch on the kitchen counter.

"Fantastic," Charlie said sourly, scrunching up his face under the slimy onslaught. "When this is over, I'm gonna kill that stupid cat."

"Yeah, yeah," said Don and he rubbed Vaseline all over his brother's face. That was not a "just in case" measure.

"Eugh! Plech! You jerk, knock it off!" Charlie howled. He moved his head from side to side, but he couldn't escape and Don didn't stop until his face was covered with soft peaks of Vaseline.

"Listen, you can't take too many precautions with a situation like this," Don said, trying hard to look like he meant it. This was way too much fun. "Hey Amita, is he all lubed up in there?" he called.

"Ready to rock," came her voice through the door.

"Okay, come on outside."

She appeared moments later and didn't quite know what to make of Don's overzealous application of the Vaseline. Charlie was a mess, and his grumpy expression was priceless.

"Oh, you poor thing!" she sympathized, kneeling down in front of him. "Did your big brother try to do an art project?"

"Hey, it's a safety precaution, all right?" Don protested. "Now, c'mere, get your hands on his cheeks like this." He positioned Amita's hands on Charlie's face with a squelch. Charlie blinked at her. "Okay, so when I yell from inside, you push. Charlie and I will pull."

"We will?" Charlie asked nervously. Because Amita had her hands pressed up against him and was stretching his cheeks, it came out "Ee ill?" He gulped. This was bound to be unpleasant.

But soon he felt Don beside him on the inside of the house, planting his hands back on either side of the pet door, gently putting his knees on the floor and coaxing him onto the balls of his feet, planting his toes on the floor for more stability. Then a big warm something (Don's torso, he assumed) settled against his rear end and strong arms were around his lap like a seatbelt, ready to help him.

"All right, Charlie, you good?" Don shouted from inside.

The headless Charlie, from Don's perspective, managed to give him a thumbs-up and then put his hand back in position. "Okay, people, let's do this! Three, two, one! GO!"

Amita smushed Charlie's face, Charlie pushed off from the door with all his strength, and Don heaved. With the genius's ears protected by the duct tape and everything lubricated by the Vaseline, it was pretty smooth sailing. Charlie popped back through the door and the Brothers Eppes landed in a heap in front of the pantry. Just as Amita ran back in, Charlie managed to stand up. He was a little dizzy.

"Anything bleeding?" Don asked, standing to join him.

"Nah, I just got kind of squeezed," Charlie said with a wince, standing very straight and trying for manly, as ridiculous as he looked. "I'm gonna go rinse this crap off my head. Thanks a lot, Don. Ya did good," he finished sincerely, and slapped his brother on the shoulder.

"No problem," Don said.

As Charlie staggered off in some sort of drunken John Wayne impression, his hair sticking up every which-way from the goo and the tape still over his ears, the elder Eppes caught Amita's eye. They both hid their smiles until Charlie disappeared into the bathroom.

Amita broke first. She snorted with laughter. "Don, seriously, thank you so much. I wanted to call EMS, but Charlie insisted I call you. Looks like he made the right choice."

Don waved her off. "Nah, you guys would have thought of this eventually. I'm just glad I could help. Although, I gotta say, it's too bad I never got a picture. That would be just primo blackmail material."

And Amita gave him a guilty grin … and held up her cell phone.

Don's eyes went wide. "You didn't."

She bit her lip and nodded.

"Oh my God. Give. Give now."

"No way!" she said. "What if _I_ need to blackmail hi – OHH!"

She shrieked in delight and took off, Don in hot pursuit.

END

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Note: For anyone who's interested, Amita's cat is named for the expression "nugget of joy." I picked that name because a) "Nugget" just sounds funny and b) the cat is clearly no such thing. Thanks for reading!

Kiki


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